The sea was cold, and the heavy chain pulled them down below the water. John pushed hard with his arms and legs until his head broke the surface. Explosions lit the sky, but he couldn't see Sherlock. He felt him though, as a tug on the chain.
John dove under the water and found him. He wrapped his arms around him and pulled Sherlock, kicking with strong strokes, until they surfaced. Sherlock had been knocked out, either by the fall, or some bit of debris from the explosion. John held him against his chest as he swam on his back away from the ship. There was fire on the deck of the Penguin. The entire ship shook from the blast of the cannons as it fired back on the Scorpion.
John tried to reach out his arm to swim faster, but the chain would not let him stretch out, and it unsettled Sherlock so that his head fell under the water again. John righted them, and began looking for something to help them float.
The sky was alight with bright starbursts of cannon fire. He could see the charge of the Black Scorpion as it did a broadside, shooting all its cannons at the larger ship. It then turned and sailed away rapidly, but the gunship followed close behind. Unfortunately, the Penguin was more maneuverable than they had supposed. It turned sharply and fired on the stern of the Scorpion causing part of the it to fall into the sea. Sherlock rolled off of John then, and he lost sight of the battle as he scrambled to save them both from drowning.
In the uneven light, John saw a bit of flotsom up ahead. He swam toward it, his arm around Sherlock's neck as he pulled him behind. It was a large log with a bit of sail on it. John caught it with his left hand and then threw the chain over the top. He tried to scramble on top of it, but Sherlock slipped into the water, and John fell head first on the other side. They both dropped below the surface, but the chain held them up. It was draped over the log.
John climbed out of the water and pulled Sherlock up. He had regained consciousness, and was coughing while clinging to the log which John now realized was the part of the mast that had been broken off during the first shots of the battle. With the chain weighing them down, and Sherlock's concussion, John calculated that holding onto this bit of mast afforded them the best chance for survival.
He raised his head and looked toward the ships. The battle had taken them far away and they were going farther still. He called out as best he could, but with the cannon fire and the dark sea no one even noticed that they were there.
Sherlock started to roll off of the log again, so John grabbed hold of the chain. He held the back of Sherlock's neck and pulled him forward until his chest was on top of the log while John floated below it. It was a bit difficult to hold on, but if they stayed very still, then the log would not roll.
The sounds of battle were almost lost in the splash of the waves as the ships sailed toward the horizon. John honestly could not tell if the Scorpion had survived. "It'll get away, it always gets away," he said out loud to reassure himself.
Sherlock raised his head at the sound of John's voice. He was too thin, and too cold. He began to shiver. John looked for some more flotsam to float Sherlock on, but there was nothing bigger than the log that they were holding onto.
John's boots were flooded, and he debated whether to keep them or drop them into the sea, deciding on the later because the weight was pulling him down. He toed the second boot off with too much force and unbalanced them again so that Sherlock went under once more. He pulled himself back up grabbing more firmly to the log while John tread water on the other side. John swam forward then and grabbed Sherlock's arm through his wet shirt. Then he reached an arm around his shoulders and held their heads close together so that their foreheads touched.
"Sherlock, how are you?" John asked.
Sherlock didn't answer, but he reached out with his right hand, and grabbed John's arm placing his head onto John's shoulder. They clung to each other, relaxing as the rest of their bodies floated in the water. The log started to roll again, so Sherlock let his legs float out and back to steady them as he lay his cheek on the wood staring into John's face. John lay his head down as well and he stared over at Sherlock his hand behind Sherlock's neck while Sherlock firmly held John's wrist. If they didn't move too much, they could stay balanced, and with their heads out of the water they could talk.
"The ship" Sherlock said. "Did they get away?"
"Don't know," John replied. "They were running with the Penguin on their tail when I last saw them, but I've been a bit distracted since then trying to keep from drowning."
"Ah, me too. The row boat?"
"Destroyed."
"Any other craft nearby?"
"Not that I've seen. They didn't have time to lower a boat."
"Damn. Then we're stuck floating. How far do you think we are off shore?"
"Some miles...heck, I don't know. I thought that you'd remember. You're the captain. Can't you tell by the stars or something?"
"You know I don't know anything about the stars."
Sherlock's shivering started to unbalance the mast again, so John pulled Sherlock a bit higher. He reached over and by tugging on Sherlock's belt, he was able to balance his hip on top of the log so that most of Sherlock was out of the water.
"You're thin as a rail," John said. "We really need to get some body mass on you. You'll go into hypothermia."
"If I don't drown first." Sherlock said closing his eyes as his fingers began to loosen on John's arm.
"Don't fall asleep. Not with that head injury," John said.
"Then keep me awake, John. Talk to me."
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know, tell me a story, a joke."
"I can't think of any."
"Then think harder! Always a problem of yours, John."
"Alright, a joke then...What letter of the alphabet is the most loved by pirates?"
"What? That's ridiculous. People don't love letters, they are simply tools used in writing."
"Just answer the question."
"It better not be R." Sherlock said. "There are enough myths about seamen without the slur that we growl when we speak."
"It's not R."
"Then what is it?"
"Guess."
"S, T, H, M?"
"No"
"Q, N, V, W?"
"No Sherlock. Wrong, wrong, wrong."
"Then tell me, What letter do pirates love?"
"Why Sherlock, you must know that a pirate's first and best love is the C."
John smiled as Sherlock huffed out a breath before starting to cough up half of his lungs. The doctor floated closer and patted him on the back, only stopping when the log started to roll again.
"I'm fine, John. I'm fine," Sherlock said, and they settled down again.
"If I only had my knife," John said, "then you could pick this lock and we could swim away from here."
"And if only we could fly, we would fly to where the ship is. There's no point in what ifs. It is now that we must worry about ."
Sherlock turned his shoulders then, and looked up at the sky. All was calm except for the gentle up and down of the swells, and the steady whoosh of a light wind. John placed his head against the wood.
"Beautiful aren't they?" Sherlock said.
"What is?"
"The stars, they're beautiful."
John turned his face upward and looked at the Milky Way arching above their heads. More stars than he had ever remembered seeing in his life were stretched across the sky. Their tiny lights colored pinpoints through the arc of heaven. He grasped the log tighter for fear that he would fall into it and never return to the Earth.
"Yes, they are beautiful," John said. "But I thought that you didn't care about the stars."
"Just because I don't find them important to know, that doesn't mean that I don't consider them beautiful, John. I may be a pirate, but I'm not a barbarian. I may not talk about it much, but there are many things in this world that I find beautiful."
John turned and found Sherlock staring back at him. He took a breath and then looked back up at the stars saying, "Well, we may very well die in this beautiful place. The water is too cold, and we are too far from shore. If we didn't have this chain, then I'd suggest that we take a chance and swim, but ...I don't think we'd get very far chained together. I suppose we'll just have to wait until our bodies wash to shore, if a whale doesn't eat us, that is."
"I'd welcome a whale. At least it would be interesting,"
John lay his head on the log, and Sherlock pulled himself forward until their heads were touching. They floated this way in silence accompanied only by the stars overhead and the schools of fish swimming below their feet.